


Blossoms Stained With Crimson

by madnessiseverything



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, I'm Sorry, but there's no kissing and love declarations, can be read as Stiles/Scott if wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to hate the spotless blue sky above him, no clouds in sight and sun beaming down on them as if it isn’t illuminating a battle field. Blood stains Stiles’ clothes and skin. Pain flares through every fiber of his body. A loud growl vibrates through the ground and he wants to close his eyes to the fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blossoms Stained With Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, kind of. I was walking home and the street is lined with cherry trees and I couldn't help myself.

Death meets them on a bright spring day that Fate has picked out for the two of them especially, deciding upon a warm and pleasant field of colors. Death always likes Fate’s way of thinking.

xxx

The sky is blue and cherry blossoms surround them, single petals dancing through the wind. Stiles wants to be angry at the irony as he coughs, feeling blood trickle out of too many wounds in his broken body. Most of their lives nowadays are spent in dark alleys, following yet another monster. But now it is bright. Stiles wants to be angry so desperately. 

He wants to hate the spotless blue sky above him, no clouds in sight and sun beaming down on them as if it isn’t illuminating a battle field. Blood stains Stiles’ clothes and skin. Pain flares through every fiber of his body. A loud growl vibrates through the ground and he wants to close his eyes to the fight.

Battles are supposed to take place underneath a dark sky, be it rain or night, he thinks. The darkness brought onto by those two things is used to add atmosphere, to forebode of terrible things. It would seem to work in evil’s favor. Then, once the good win, the sky clears up or the light returns into the lives of everybody. The hero gets a celebration. 

Only this is Beacon Hills. Happy endings seem to have left this town a long time ago. Stiles chokes on the blood collecting in his mouth and turns his head slowly, spitting with a low groan following the liquid. He doesn’t have enough energy to try and fight, not anymore. 

His eyes catch onto a form lying not too far away, below the bright pink cherry blossoms the wind has been blowing into their faces throughout the entire fight. It makes Stiles want to laugh loudly and cough out even more of his own blood if it would stop the cherry tree from mocking their fight. Fucking cherry blossoms. 

Petals of pink color, almost reminiscent of the blood splatters on the ground, surround him and he feels something hit the earth off to his left. He doesn’t check if it was pack or the monster. 

Because the figure underneath the cherry tree is Scott, head tipped back and hands clutching his stomach. Stiles doesn’t need to strain his eyes to see the gaping hole. The sun paints a perfect picture of Scott not healing, choking and gasping for breath. It makes Stiles’ cough turn into a sob. 

The hero isn’t supposed to fall in happy endings. It usually is the anti-hero, the one that maybe isn’t as good as everybody else, that dies before the bad guys are pushed back. That one person that never truly belongs on the good side anyways. Stiles is content in falling as that person. 

But Scott isn’t supposed to look like he is dying. He’s supposed to be on his feet, standing above the threat and chase them away with words of warning. Scott isn’t supposed to be on the ground like the weak human Stiles knows himself to be.

Stiles lets out a pained yell as he rolls onto his side, using his elbows to drag himself towards the tree. He has to get to Scott. He forces his teeth through his lip in an attempt to keep quiet, to keep his actions unseen from their enemy. He barely registers that the fight sounds are more distant. 

Scott’s head falls to the side and glazed over eyes meet Stiles’. “Scotty,” he rasps, spitting out blood as he digs his elbows into the ground and drags his limp body next to the alpha. His arms give out and he can’t hold back the scream of pain ripping from his throat, white-hot agony coursing through his cells. 

“Stiles,” Scott whispers, human features grimacing with pain. Stiles stares at his best friend’s face next to his, weak fingers lacing with Scott’s. He doesn’t ask why Scott isn’t healing. The wound is too deep; too much poison is running through his body. He stares into his best friend’s eyes and feels everything drain out of him at once. They are dying, it’s too late. They failed.

“I’m sorry,” Scott rasps, hand clutching Stiles’ with strength no dying man has. Stiles feels a weak surge of anger, before it dissolves. He inches closer, barely, and his nose brushes Scott’s. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and his next words tumble out too quickly, “we’ll see Allison soon.” Stiles swallows painfully as Scott’s eyes widen. Allison. Stiles wonders if he will be allowed into heaven, wonders if hunters and werewolves have separate paradises. Maybe he will be allowed to stay with Scott. Stiles’ eyes sting.

“No, Stiles, we-” Scott tries desperately to drag in air through destroyed lungs. Stiles slowly raises his other hand to Scott’s neck. Weakly he smooths his thumb over a jumping pulse. The heart is working quickly, hoping to pump enough blood. Stiles knows it’s just making Scott bleed out faster.

“Shhh,” he hisses, blood making the sound wet and desperate. “I’m sorry,” he repeats Scott’s words. Scott gives a small shake of his head, his forehead touching Stiles’. Stiles wants nothing but to tune out the sound of their bloody gasps mingling. 

It’s quiet around them, Stiles realizes. Almost silent apart from their own sounds. He barely manages to raise his head slightly and finds the fight moved further away, the pack surrounding the monster in a far corner of the field. Stiles can’t make out the sound of a katana hitting bone, can’t hear echoing roars. Only the monster is making noise, but it’s faint. As if to give them peace in their final moments.

Stiles wants to laugh, but his head only falls back to the ground and he groans. He needs to talk to Scott, needs him to know everything, but no strength or breath come to him. The words swim in his mind. His eyes meet Scott’s and he knows they’re both crying, the tears on their faces drawing tracks into the blood. He hates how his hand grows weak in Scott’s grip and he lets out a quiet scream, frustration the only thing left in his body. 

“Stiles,” Scott whispers, eyes drooping. “Stiles.” Stiles hates how a sob is the only sound he can make in response. His nose bumps into Scott’s cheek as he shakes. Fear grows out of frustration and Stiles hates the spots of black in his vision.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t. 

And Scott doesn’t deserve to die, doesn’t deserve the pain his body is feeling. Stiles can barely see the cherry blossoms above them, but he knows they’re there, mockingly smiling down at them. Scott probably appreciates the beauty which they die under, would probably smile into the sun if enough strength resided in his body. A hero deserves to die in a beautiful place.

Stiles can’t stop his eyes from falling closed with the image of Scott’s tears burned into his slowing mind. He can’t taste the blood coating his tongue and can’t feel air inside his chest. He can only feel himself drifting away from his best friend, wants to hold on desperately. But Scott’s fingers laced with his grow into a distant feeling of warmth until it is swallowed by nothing. 

Beneath a cherry tree two broken bodies fall still.

xxx

Darkness finds Stiles, welcomes him as the familiar face and heart it has gripped in its claws for so long.  
Light settles down next to Scott, a gentle caress over a face that embodies the rays in a world filled with dark.

They meet over the bodies of two friends, intertwined with devotion and loyalty. They shake hands in respect. After all, neither light nor darkness has a name without the other.

**Author's Note:**

> (Stiles feels the need to cry when he finds himself in Scott's arms. "They let me be with you." Scott presses his forehead to Stiles'. "Of course, why wouldn't they?" Stiles doesn't answer. Neither needs an answer when they catch the flip of brown hair and a dimpled smile next to them.)


End file.
